


Can't Believe You Don't Know

by adjectivebear (HealerAriel)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Public Sex, Smut, Voice Kink, in which Zevran combats the Warden's low self-esteem with his penis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9612446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HealerAriel/pseuds/adjectivebear
Summary: Solona believes she's unattractive. Zevran vehemently disagrees. And what's more, he knows exactly how to prove it.Originally written for the Kink Meme.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Did I finally finish my ancient Kink Meme offering? Why yes, yes I did! I apologize that my muse for this fic took such a lengthy hiatus.

“Ah, _there_ you are, my dear. I was beginning to think you were hiding from me.”

“Not at all,” Solona lied, unable to contain a disappointed sigh as she closed her book and lifted her gaze to the assassin sauntering toward her, already mourning the pleasant evening that could have been.

They’d been staying at Castle Redcliffe while the Arl made his preparations for the trip to Denerim, and though her companions were getting more restless by the day, Solona was rather enjoying it. It wasn’t that she hated camping—well, no, she _did_ hate it, actually, which was why it was so nice to finally be indoors again, where it was warm and dry and blessedly free of insects, with real food, a proper bed, and plenty of light to read by.

And yes, more places to hide from Zevran.

It wasn’t that she hated him, either. Indeed, she rather liked him when he was slicing up darkspawn, engaged in meaningful conversation, or joking with the rest of the party. She imagined they could have been very good friends if he took slightly less amusement in playing at seducing her.

Or if _she_ didn’t wish so desperately that he _weren’t_ playing.

For a few precious hours she’d dared to believe he was serious. No one had ever flirted with her before, and he was so handsome, and yes, he’d tried to kill her, but she’d been more than willing to forgive that particular offense if it meant she would no longer have to resign herself to the overwhelming likelihood of dying a virgin (she knew how pathetic that sounded, but there was a bloody Blight going on, and beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers). But then he’d started flirting with everyone _else_ , and Solona had understood.

He wasn’t interested in _her_. He just liked flirting.

She couldn’t believe she’d ever been foolish enough to believe otherwise. She knew what she looked like. She was chubby, no taller than an elf, could not so much as _look_ at a sunny day without sprouting a dozen new freckles, and had an unruly mane of not-quite-brown, not-quite-blond hair that stuck out at odd angles even when she wound it tightly into a bun. She’d been a laughably easy target back at Kinloch Hold, and that was even before her twenty-first birthday had come and gone, granting her the dubious honor of being the oldest virgin in the Circle and earning her the horrid nickname ‘Saint Solona’ as though her continued chastity were born of some prudishness of her own rather than everyone else’s refusal to have sex with her.

No one had ever fancied her. It was absurd to think anyone ever could.

Well, no—that wasn’t entirely true. Cullen had fancied her. But he hadn’t bothered to _tell_ her so until it was far too late for them to do anything about it, and after what had happened during Uldred’s rebellion…

No. It didn’t bear thinking on. It was done now, and there was no use in regretting the things she couldn’t change. _Like the inevitability of dying alone and untouched_ , the crueler part of her mind supplied helpfully.

She scowled, suddenly in even less of a mood for Zevran’s nonsense.

In the grand scheme of things, his teasing was probably was a stupid thing to be bothered by. However much it _felt_ like he was deliberately taunting her, she knew he was just having a laugh and that it was ultimately nothing personal. And yet, despite constantly reminding herself of precisely that, the playful mockery never failed get a rise out of her, which only encouraged him to do it more frequently.

_Much_ more frequently. While originally he’d flirted indiscriminately with the entire party, he’d been focusing solely on her for months now, to the point where it seemed that half of their interactions ended with her stomping off in frustration. It wasn’t a tendency she was proud of, and lately she’d begun to resort to simply avoiding him.

Or not so simply. Avoiding someone was actually stunningly difficult when you shared a camp.

Apparently, Zevran was keen to make it just as difficult in Redcliffe.

Solona sighed again as he got closer, the warm glow of the lamplight playing distractingly over his brown skin and those unreasonably tight trousers he favored. He leaned casually against the table next to her, presumably to make absolutely certain she’d noticed the latter. She felt her cheeks flush and gritted her teeth. She would not play this game tonight. She was _reading_ , damn it, and she was just getting to the good part.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked in a clipped tone, forcing her eyes to stay locked on his face. Those damned trousers left nothing to the imagination, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of catching her gawking at his legs, backside, or… other areas in the vicinity.

“My dear Solona,” he said, pronouncing her name in that maddeningly _Antivan_ way of his, “my intention was simply to provide some company. Look at you, all alone in this dusty library. What a sad way to spend an evening! Why are you here, and not celebrating your victories with Alistair and Leliana?”

Solona snorted. Not long ago, she _would_ have been with them, but now she doubted she’d have been particularly welcome. She adored her friends, but sometimes she rued the day they became a couple. “As much as I love being a third wheel, I thought the night might be better spent catching up on my reading.”

“Oh? What is it that captivates you so?” Solona moved to grab the book, but Zevran’s hands were quicker. He snatched it up, glancing briefly at the cover illustration before turning to the summary inscribed on the back and reading aloud. “‘ _Enchantress of His Heart_ : the sultry tale of the forbidden love between the handsome and noble Knight-Captain Marius and the beautiful, seductive Lucienne. Their passion burns brighter than any flame she can conjure, but how long can they keep it a secret—’”

Solona seized the book, her cheeks burning. “I never claimed it was intellectually stimulating reading,” she said defensively, clutching it to her chest lest he make another grab for it.

He laughed. “No doubt it is _stimulating_ in other ways, yes?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” she said primly. “And even if I _did_ , so what? A girl’s allowed a little wish-fulfillment every now and then.”

She realized she’d just handed him the perfect bait the second the words left her mouth, but by then it was too late. She scolded herself as he leaned closer, fixing her with that smoldering look he so loved to employ.

“You don’t need fiction for that, Solona. I assure you, I am both willing and quite able to fulfill your _every_ wish.”

Solona played off her shiver as a sudden chill, counting her blessings that the dampness between her thighs was known to her alone. _That_ she’d have had no good excuse for. “I _wish_ to be allowed to continue reading.”

“Of course! How rude of me to interrupt. In fact, I shall join you.”

Before Solona could protest, he’d selected a volume from the pile of books in the center of the table, settled into an adjacent chair, and begun to read. She groaned inwardly, but grudgingly admired the lengths to which Zevran would go to annoy her. If he’d been even half as dedicated an assassin, he must have been the golden boy of the Antivan Crows. Still, he was being quiet now, which was a vast improvement, and since there was little hope of convincing him to leave, she decided to just accept it and reopened to the page she’d left off on.

It was initially a bit awkward, as she’d just gotten to one of the steamier scenes, but after a few moments she’d all but forgotten Zevran’s presence, the occasional sound of a page being turned the only reminder that she was not alone. She felt her irritation begin to wane. Was it possible he really _did_ just want to keep her company? Perhaps she’d judged him unfairly.

She’d finished one chapter and was well into the next before she chanced a furtive glance at her companion.

Or, rather, she’d _intended_ it as a furtive glance. The secrecy was rather lost when the target of one’s gaze already had his eyes fixed intently upon her.

“Do you stare at everyone like that?” she asked, shifting awkwardly in her seat and praying to the Maker that the dim light camouflaged the hot flush rising in her cheeks. The smirk playing at Zevran’s lips spoke to the contrary.

“Not everyone. But a beautiful woman like yourself?” He reached out to toy with a lock of her hair. “Why not? I am sure you draw many stares, from men and even other women.”

“Oh, for the— _honestly_!” she sputtered, slamming her book shut and rising from the table so quickly that she nearly knocked over her chair, suddenly more furious than she’d ever been in her life, and not at all sure whether this new fury was aimed at Zevran or herself. He had the nerve to look confused, which only fueled her rage. “You are absolutely insufferable!”

 “I am... not sure what—”

“The more fool I for hoping we might actually be able to pass the evening like civilized people,” she continued, shoving her belongings haphazardly into her satchel, “because you obviously _cannot_ be in the same room with me for more than five minutes without getting the overwhelming urge to mock me.”

He began to open his mouth, but Solona was having none of it, determined to speak her piece before the angry tears prickling behind her eyes began to flow. She was a sodding Grey Warden now, not the pathetic schoolgirl who’d been bullied at Kinloch Hold. She _would not_ weep.

“Can’t you see that _I_ don’t think it’s funny? Can’t you just leave me be? Don’t you understand how cruel it is to make me—?” she bit her tongue then, mortified to have come so close to confessing herself, to admitting just how deeply his playful flirtations affected her.

Maker, she _was_ pathetic. Tears threatening in earnest now, she abandoned the half-packed satchel in favor of just _leaving_ as quickly as possible.

But this, like a peaceful evening of reading, was not in the cards.

She had not gotten three steps toward the door before a hand wrapped around her wrist, its grip not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but difficult to break nonetheless. Resisting the juvenile urge to stamp her foot in frustration, Solona reluctantly turned to face her captor, who still wore the same damnable expression of puzzlement.

“Mocking you? Is that what you think?” The uncharacteristic softness in his voice left her too stunned to reply, snapping out of it only when he raised a hand toward her cheek. She dodged the touch, irritated anew.

“What do you expect me to think?”

“That I mean what I say?” The suggestion earned a particularly unladylike snort from her. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“ _Yes_ , actually!” she snapped, taking some morbid pleasure in the frown it brought to his face.

“Why?”

A mirthless laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “What do you mean, _why_ ? Andraste’s mercy, Zevran, how stupid do you think I am? What could you _possibly_ want with some fat, freckled little mage?”

The frown deepened. “You say such things about yourself, yet think me cruel for saying you are beautiful? I am not certain I follow your logic.”

Solona huffed and stared at a spot on the wall.

“But no matter,” he went on, waving away the issue. “I _do_ find you quite lovely, my dear, but no doubt you still question my sincerity. Perhaps a bit of convincing is in order, yes?”

Solona was not quite sure she trusted the purr in his voice, nor the gleam in those golden eyes, but if Zevran marked her wariness, he paid her no heed, instead giving off the appearance of one deep in thought.

“Hmm, where to begin? Ah, yes! I believe it was your eyes which first caught my attention, my fair Warden,” he said, pressing blithely onward despite the suspicious narrowing of the features in question. “They are truly remarkable. I have always been partial to green eyes, but yours are a particularly enchanting hue, like new leaves at the first light of dawn. They remind me of the Brecilian Forest.”

“They make you feel as though something is going to jump out and eat you?”

“Why must you always make the seduction so difficult?”

“Right, how silly of me. My eyes are like the Brecilian Forest. By all means, go on.”

Zevran gave her a mildly exasperated look, but quickly recovered and continued as though she’d never spoken. “And you have such beautiful hands.” Solona bit back a gasp as he ghosted his fingertips along the insides of her wrists before capturing her hands in his own. She tried not to think about how warm they were. “So graceful and soft. Getting to feel these lovely hands upon my flesh almost makes it worth getting wounded in battle.”

“And to think, all this time I assumed you were just careless.”

“I am beginning to suspect that you and Alistair are somehow related.”

For reasons she could not explain, Solona burst out laughing at that. And then found it remarkably difficult to stop. So preoccupied was she that she did not notice his hands moving once more until one was cupping her cheek.

That sobered her.

Her first impulse was to move away, to shake him off, and yet she found that she couldn’t force her muscles to obey. The feel of his palm against her cheek was… nice. The warm, tingly feeling she’d come to associate with Zevran’s presence began to spread through her body.

Oh, she was in trouble.

“You laugh too rarely, Solona,” he said softly, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. “It is a sweet sound.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh. No more commentary from you, I think. For now you only listen, yes?”

Solona found herself nodding, having at some point become completely enthralled by those breathtaking golden eyes. Eyes which were now mere inches from her own. _Too close. Much too close..._

“You have such soft skin,” he said, running his knuckles along her jawline. “And these freckles of yours—ah, would you forgive me the pun if I said I found them _bewitching_?” Solona’s breath caught in her chest as he leaned forward to rub his cheek against hers.

Sweet Andraste, this couldn’t be happening. She must be dreaming, imagining the caress of his skin, the soft scent of leather that clung to him long after he’d changed out of his armor, the hot breath tickling her ear as he nuzzled her and—oh, Maker—the warm press of his lips against her temple. Any moment now she would wake up in bed, hot and bothered and alone.

Wouldn’t she?

“And you smell divine,” he purred, the vibrations against her ear sending shivers down her spine. “Like books and incense. When I was a child that is how I imagined all mages must smell. In fact, it is only you.”

She was briefly compelled to ask if he routinely went around sniffing mages in order to test that theory, but the words died on her tongue, replaced by a gasp at the first gentle nip on her earlobe. She felt his lips curve into what she could only assume was a wicked smile.

“I think you like that.”

The shudder that wracked her body seemed to be all the answer he needed. Slowly, teasingly, he began nibbling his way up her ear, each little scrape of teeth sending a corresponding jolt straight to her groin.

No, this couldn’t be a dream. Her pleasant dreams were never this vivid. Which begged the decidedly _un_ pleasant question of why, exactly, this thing that was actually happening _was_ actually happening. Some spell, perhaps? Residual energy left over by the demon that had possessed the Arl’s son? Or something of her own doing? Maker, had Avernus’s potion turned her into a blood mage without her knowledge? Was that even possible?

“You are _thinking_ , my dear,” Zevran admonished. “You must stop that.”

Solona meant to argue, really she did, but he chose that exact moment to slide his tongue along the whorl of her ear, making her toes curl and rendering her incapable of any response more coherent than a needy mewl. The rational part of her mind protested that this was absurd, that she couldn’t possibly be this desperate, even as she eagerly tilted her head to allow him better access, her cooperation rewarded by an enthusiastic series of nips and kisses along her neck.

Yes, thinking… thinking was entirely overrated.

She let out a whine of protest when he pulled away, only to be distracted once more when he brought both hands up to cup her face, his bright eyes locking with hers. Her heart was pounding so hard, her breath coming so quickly that she worried she might faint.

“And your smile… my dear, my heart aches that you do not grace me with it more often. I’ve seen many great beauties, and yet when a smile lights your face they all seem plain in comparison.”

She flinched back in surprise when he leaned closer. He looked confused and slightly hurt, and she’d just begun to berate herself for ruining everything when realization dawned on his face.

“Sweet Solona,” he said softly, tracing the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip. “Has no one ever kissed you?”

Embarrassment washed over her. Slowly, she shook her head.

“We must fix that,” he said, closing the distance between them.

Her knees nearly buckled at the touch of his lips, and she clutched his shoulders to keep herself upright. It was somehow at once exactly and nothing like how she’d expected a kiss to feel, and Solona had spent a great deal of time thinking about kissing lately, due in equal parts to her lamentable taste in literature and the fact that Alistair and Leliana couldn’t go five minutes without doing it, which was either adorable or nauseating depending on her mood.

This kiss was not at all as described in the books. There were no fireworks flashing before her eyes, nor did the earth tremble beneath her feet, nor was she especially conscious of her body thrumming with desire, whatever _that_ felt like. But his lips were soft and warm against hers, she felt pleasantly toasty all over as though she’d had a bit too much wine, and she was fairly certain that if she reached between her legs at that moment, she would have found herself drenched.

Her hands slid down his back, her means of supporting herself evolving into an embrace. A thrill of excitement shot through her when his tongue played at the seam of her lips and she obediently parted them, allowing him passage. Having another person’s tongue in her mouth did not feel nearly as odd as it really ought to, and she must have moaned at the sensation because she felt him laugh as he flicked his tongue teasingly along her own, coaxing her to respond in kind.

And respond she did. She was unpracticed and clumsy, and it couldn’t possibly have been a very good kiss for him, but he gave no indication of displeasure as his tongue danced with hers, gently instructing her on the proper form. She had nearly gotten the hang of it when a sudden chill gave her pause.

She broke the kiss and glanced down to find her robes opened to the waist, Zevran’s fingers still upon the laces. She shot him an incredulous look. He grinned back, entirely unrepentant, and though she knew she ought to have been scandalized, she found herself trying not to laugh.

“You can’t pick locks to save your life, but you can get a girl’s robes open without her being any the wiser?”

“Locks are not quite so easily distracted by a thorough snogging,” he pointed out, sliding his hands along the edges of her robes. “Now, let’s see what we have _here_ …”

He attempted to slide the garment off her shoulders, and Solona immediately clasped it shut. She looked away, blushing furiously.

“Ah, Solona, forgive me.” He pulled her into his arms. “Forgive me, that was too bold. I did not mean to make you feel threatened.”

“No,” she said into his neck, kissing him there to prove she meant it. “No, it wasn’t, I didn’t, it’s just…”

“You are shy?” he guessed, and she nodded, because it was easier than verbalizing the truth. He released her, grinning once more. “Of course you are! Where are my manners, trying to relieve you of your clothing while I stand fully dressed before you? You have my humblest apologies.”

Undoubtedly, the honorable thing would have been to screw up the nerve to tell him what was really on her mind, but Solona was only human, and the impossibly handsome man on whom she’d harbored a massive crush for the past several months had just divested himself of his shirt, so perhaps she could be forgiven. And if she _couldn’t_ be, the sight before her was well worth an eternity in the circle of the Void reserved for dishonest ninnies.

She had seen Zevran bare-chested before, but he’d been bleeding on each of those occasions, which was hardly conducive to ogling unless you were a blood mage and into that sort of thing. Now, with no such impediment, she found she could not tear her eyes away.

Maker, how was it possible for any man to be so _perfect_? He may as well have been carved by a sculptor: lithe and muscular, every delectable contour so marvelously defined that just _looking_ at him felt somehow sinful. He also had not been joking about the extent of his tattoos. There were a number of them curving sinuously along his arms and torso, all seemingly designed for the sole purpose of emphasizing his magnificent form.

“It’s just occurred to me that if you’d taken your shirt off the day we met, I would be dead right now,” Solona admitted, having quite a bit of trouble averting her gaze from the sharp V of his hips.

Zevran laughed. “And what fun would that have been for either of us?” He took up her hands, kissing each palm before placing them on his chest, and Solona was briefly mesmerized by the contrast of her white hands against his dark skin. Then she became aware of the heat and texture of that skin, and suddenly mere aesthetics were the furthest thing from her mind. Her fingers drifted over his collarbone, his neck, his jaw.

Something childish took over inside her as her fingers approached his ears. Solona had always liked elf ears. She’d always secretly wanted to touch them, just to see what they felt like. It was beyond her comprehension how anything so delicate and pretty had inspired a racial slur.

She had also heard rumors that those lovely ears were extremely sensitive. She traced a fingertip along the edge of one, barely stifling a giggle when Zevran let out a hiss of pleasure.

Ah—the rumors were true, then. That was good to know. She traced it again, then, growing bolder, leaned in to kiss it. He made another pleased sound, grasping her about the waist, and she really _did_ giggle. She mimicked the attentions he’d paid to her earlier, spurred along by his little sighs and the unconscious flexing of his fingers when she found a particularly good spot. She flicked her tongue against the tip and he _groaned_ , clutching her waist nearly hard enough to bruise.

“You are not as innocent as you look,” he said, sounding slightly breathless. His hands covered hers again, prompting them to continue their exploration of his body, and shyly she let them begin to drift lower, skimming over his toned arms before traveling inward to study his chest and stomach, tracing the lines of each tattoo she encountered along the way.

“I look innocent?”

“Terribly innocent,” he confirmed as her fingers trailed along his taut abdominal muscles. “Saintly, almost. It makes me want to do wicked things to you. Ah, you’ve no idea how becomingly you blush!”

Solona stubbornly ducked her head to hide her coloring cheeks and Zevran laughed at her, at which she might have summoned the will to feign annoyance had she been any less fascinated by the vibration of it within his chest or the small, brown nipples pebbling beneath her fingers. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. _Saintly, indeed_ , she thought, placing a fingertip on each nipple.

She couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised noise he made as she sent the first gentle pulse of electricity into the sensitive flesh. A second pulse had him purring, his head tipping back as his eyes slipped shut.

“You approve, then?” Solona said, setting a rhythmic pattern of many smaller bursts of magic. “One of the mages gained himself quite the fan club with this trick. The other girls couldn’t shut up about it. It seemed worthwhile to figure it out for myself.”

“Oh? Is _this_ the cause of those delicious sounds coming from your tent at night?” Solona’s mortification must have been palpable, because he continued, “Not to worry, my dear, you are perfectly quiet. Elf ears are keener than most. Especially when they happen to be pressed up against your tent.”

Solona sputtered indignantly, blushing anew, and he chuckled, preempting any more coherent scolding by kissing her soundly. When he finally pulled back she was too dazed to recall why she had taken exception to his confessed misbehavior in the first place.

“Can you blame me? Knowing that you are right there, pleasuring yourself, a flimsy bit of canvas the only thing keeping us apart? The temptation is too great.” The liquid heat pooling in her groin had Solona fidgeting helplessly as he leaned forward to nuzzle her cheek, his voice dropping to a sultry purr. “What do you think of, my pretty witch, when you touch yourself?” He dragged his tongue lazily down her neck. “Do you imagine that it is _my_ fingers between your legs? My tongue?"

Solona swallowed hard. The answer, of course, was a resounding _yes_ , but her pride—what little that remained—refused to permit so effortless a victory. “That’s rather presumptuous of you,” she said, the whimper that escaped as he nipped sharply at the juncture of her neck and shoulder doing little for the air of cool composure she’d striven to project. “What makes you think you feature at all?”

“Excluding the position in which we currently find ourselves?” One finger found the gap in her robes, eliciting another whimper as it scorched a path from her clavicle, between her breasts, and down her stomach, stopping to trace a slow circle around her navel. “I am not blind, Solona, and I am certainly not naïve. I know what it means when a woman looks at me as you do.”

“I… I don’t—” she began weakly, only to be silenced by his lips again. When he released her, he held the edges of her robes in his grasp once more, but made no move to undress her. He caught her gaze, and Solona realized belatedly that he was waiting for permission. “You won’t like what you see,” she blurted.

“Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that.” There was something approaching tenderness in his expression, but Solona did not have time to marvel at the strangeness of such a thing because in the next instant her robes were being pushed from her shoulders and she was squeezing her eyes shut, unable to watch that expression turn to disappointment. If that meant she was a terrible coward, so be it.

The fabric slid down, pooling at the belt still slung around her hips as her top half was bared to his view. He said nothing, and with each passing second Solona’s heart sank a bit further.

He found her disgusting. She’d known he would. He may have thought she was cute when she was dressed, but naked…

_It’s not as though I didn’t warn him,_ she thought sourly, more painfully aware than ever of her own imperfections. If only she were like the girls in the Circle who could eat whatever they wanted and never gain an ounce, or the other girls who just never seemed to be particularly hungry in the first place. Or, at the very least, the _other_ girls who were just as heavy as she, but had large enough breasts that no one seemed to mind.

Solona felt her own breasts—her sad, disproportionately small breasts which hadn’t grown a bit since she was twelve, no matter how fervently she hoped and prayed for them to do so—tightening, though whether it was a result of the sudden chill or her mental scrutiny, she couldn’t say.

“ _Oh_ , Solona. You are even more beautiful than I thought you would be.”

Solona’s eyes flew open in surprise to find him regarding her quite strangely indeed. One of his hands skated down her ribs, leaving gooseflesh in its wake as it came to curl around her waist, giving her a little squeeze there.

“So soft and lush,” he said, his free hand trailing softly over her bare skin. “These cold Fereldan nights would not be nearly so inhospitable with you in my arms.” He ran his knuckles along the underside of a breast, which tightened further at the attention. Solona flushed.

“They’re too small,” she said, feeling the need to apologize.

“They are _perfect_ ,” he corrected, cupping them in his warm palms. “You see? Just the right size. And _these_ ,” he said, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples in a way that made her knees go wobbly, “these I am truly enamored with. I have never seen nipples quite so pink. How pretty they are.”

He gave them a gentle tweak and she nearly lost her balance altogether. Looking entirely too pleased with himself, he maneuvered her around to lean against the table before resuming his attack, teasing her with soft strokes and hard pinches until she was gasping for air and gripping the edge of the table for dear life. Why, in all the years she’d spent doing those exact things to herself, had it never felt like _this_ before, the very lightest of touches sending throbs of desperate, aching need to her cunt?

She barely noticed the muscular thigh insinuating itself between her legs until he ground it against her— _hard_.

Pride, dignity, and other such inconveniences fell by the wayside as she rubbed herself against it, her oversensitive flesh craving the sweet friction it granted. He obliged her with firm pressure, and she was vaguely aware of making noises she wouldn’t own up to later as a hot coil of pleasure began tightening in her belly more quickly than it ever did when she was alone in her bed. One more nudge, one more hard tug on her nipples and she’d be done for. _Almost. Oh, Maker, almost..._

The hands and thigh withdrew suddenly, and Solona nearly screamed in frustration. She glared at Zevran, who smirked back before pulling her flush against him and claiming her mouth once more, which was entirely unfair because she wanted to stay cross, and it was all but impossible to do that when his delicious bare skin was pressed up against her and he was doing those _things_ with his lips and teeth and tongue.

She conceded defeat, moaning softly into that unbelievably _talented_ mouth and slipping her arms around him to tighten the embrace. It took her a few seconds longer than it really should have to notice that there was something hard pressing into her pelvis, and she must have let out a startled noise when she finally realized what it was, because she felt him smile against her lips.

“In case you still had your doubts,” he said, his voice rich with amusement as he captured a trembling hand and led it to the bulge in his trousers, “I can assure you that this does not happen unless I very much _do_ like what I see.”

She supposed he had a point, there.

She gave the bulge an experimental caress, drawing a groan from his lips that somehow had _her_ throbbing in anticipation. Zevran caught her hand again, this time depositing it pointedly on the laces of his trousers. A glance up at his face gave confirmation of the silent instructions and, blushing furiously, Solona set about her task. Her fingers felt awkward and clumsy as they worked the laces, and she suddenly, irrationally wondered if she ought to just flee—a notion she quickly abandoned as the evidence of his arousal sprang from confinement.

With only medical diagrams and the vague descriptions in romance novels to draw from, Solona wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected a real penis to look like, but she was quickly deciding that she found this one quite attractive. She had no way of telling whether it was any larger or smaller than most, but to her untrained eye it certainly _looked_ impressive enough, swollen and flushed and displayed all the more prominently for the swirling tattoos that flanked it in lieu of hair, drawing the eye inexorably toward it.

As if anyone would really have wanted to look away.

He chuckled, and she realized she’d been staring. She grinned sheepishly. “It’s lovely,” she said, drawing a fingertip along its length and discovering that it felt even better than it looked. She had never imagined that skin could be so soft, so hot. He made little noises of encouragement as she slid her thumb over the head, smearing the drop of fluid glistening at the tip.

It twitched suddenly, and she jerked her hand back in surprise. He laughed.

“Sometimes it has a mind of its own,” he said, calmly recapturing her hand and guiding her to wrap it around him. He showed her how to grip his cock so that the silky skin slipped back and forth over the rigid flesh beneath with each pump, and she delighted in the feel of it in her hand.

Once comfortable with the basic principle of the act, she began to vary her strokes—fast and slow, gentle and rough, trying to determine what he liked best. It didn’t take her long; Solona had always prided herself on being a quick study, and Zevran wasn’t remotely shy about expressing his approval when she did something right. He moaned when she handled him roughly, gasped when she squeezed tightly on the upstroke, and so she continued to do just that.

A few moments of her specially-tailored attentions had him panting as he thrust his hips into each stroke, and Solona blushed at the sudden realization that she dearly wanted to watch him come. Would he cry out? How would his face look? Would he shoot his seed all over her stomach? And why, in Andraste’s name, was the latter such a bizarrely appealing prospect at the moment?

Before she had the chance to learn the answer to any of those questions he pulled her hand away, swallowing her protest with a kiss as he guided her to sit on the edge of the table. He began hitching up the skirt of her robes.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, squirming uneasily as he dropped to his knees before her. He grinned up at her as he inched the fabric slowly, teasingly up her thighs. Solona bit back a groan. Maker, how she loved and _hated_ that grin.

“I believe it is your turn to show me something of yours, yes?” he said, hooking his fingers suggestively into the waistband of her smallclothes. Solona’s cheeks burned.

“I…” She swallowed hard and tried again. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

Later, she imagined, she would be terribly flattered by how quickly her smallclothes found their way onto the floor; at the moment, however, she was too busy trying to get a rein on the nerves and desire warring within her as his hands stroked along the outsides of her tightly-clenched thighs. She moaned pathetically as he dropped a kiss to one.

“Sweet Solona,” he murmured, massaging the flesh beneath his palms, “let me see. I promise you, I won’t bite. Well, not unless you want me to,” he amended, flashing a cheeky smirk. When after a moment she still did not comply, he ducked his head to press more soft kisses to her thighs. “You asked me what I want with you,” he said between kisses. “I want to taste you. I want to hear you call my name as I bring you to ecstasy, over and over, until you think you will die of it. I want to bury myself between these plump thighs and make love to you until neither of us has the strength to move any longer, and to rest on your soft belly after I have spent myself inside you.” He raised his eyes to catch her gaze. “But first, I want to see you.”

Solona shivered. “Yes, okay.”

Her thighs were pushed apart, Zevran settled between them as soon as the words left her mouth, and Solona lay back on the table and tried to remember to _breathe_ , uncertain whether she was mortified or excited to be spread so lewdly for him. She had a feeling it was a bit of both. She heard him inhale deeply, and her cheeks grew even hotter.

“What a fine little cunny this is,” he said, brushing his fingers softly along her outer lips before gently parting them. He dragged a finger through her folds and Solona whimpered, embarrassed by the slick sounds of his ministrations. She could hear the satisfaction in his voice when he spoke again. “So wet for me already?”

Solona couldn’t quite muster a coherent response, which he must have realized, because he didn’t wait for one.

She gasped at the feel of a hot, wet tongue sliding up her cleft, letting out a particularly undignified squeak when it finished its journey with a flick against her clit. She squirmed helplessly, willing him to do it again.

“Delicious,” he purred. “Just as I thought you would be.”

She wasn’t sure whether to blush at the compliment or cry out of sheer frustration, but both soon proved irrelevant because that _tongue_ was back, lapping at her as though she was the best thing he’d ever tasted. And she’d thought he was good at kissing! Those skills paled in comparison to what his mouth was doing to her now, eagerly licking and suckling the sensitive flesh, robbing her of any higher thought than _Yes, more, please!_

She let out another squeak as that tongue was plunged deep inside her, and then moaned, threading her fingers into his hair. Maker, she never touched herself there; she’d tried once or twice but, finding it slightly uncomfortable and an awkward angle at which to hold her wrist to boot, she’d abandoned it in favor of her clitoris, dipping her fingers into herself only when she wasn’t quite slick enough outside yet. But having a warm, wriggling tongue inside her? Even in her wildest dreams, she couldn’t have imagined how incredible it would feel!

She whined at the loss when the tongue withdrew, only to draw the sound into a sharp keen as it slid up to tease her neglected clit. The tingling heat came flooding back as his tongue flicked and circled, and she must have been closer to the edge than she realized because he captured the swollen bud between his lips and _sucked_ and suddenly she was coming harder than she ever had, her cries echoing through the library.

Too sensitive now, she tried to squirm away, but he caught her hips, holding her firmly in place. “Again,” he said, delivering a feather-soft lick that made her shudder all over. “I know you can.”

Oh, and he _did_ , didn’t he? That terrible, wonderful, absolute _pervert_!

She groaned, ceasing her struggle as he lavished her with gentle attentions until it was no longer too much but just right, and she wasn’t sure _how_ he could tell when it was, but he could, licking her harder and faster until she shattered beneath his tongue a second time. Once more she tried to escape, and once more he held her fast, soothing her with barely-there strokes until she was ready again.

Once, twice, thrice more that clever tongue brought her to orgasm, leaving her a panting, quivering pile of useless limbs when he finally began to pull away.

“Why are you stopping?” she demanded breathlessly, propping herself up on her elbows with no small amount of difficulty. He laughed, bestowing one last kiss to her nether lips before wiping his mouth on her robes and rising to his feet.

“As flattered as I am by your appreciation of my talents, too much more attention to your little pearl may leave it sore in the morning,” he said. He bent to kiss her, slow and lingering rather than insistent, and she melted into it, blushing at the taste of herself on his lips.

He stood back up and began to redo the laces of his trousers. Panic lanced through her.

“What—why are you—?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, I thought you wanted to… you know,” she finished lamely.

“I do very much wish to _you know_ ,” he said with a grin, “but I think it might be wise to adjourn to a bed before we do so.”

Fear knotted in her stomach. If they left this room, if he saw her in better lighting, he would change his mind. Deep in her gut, she knew it. This was her only chance. “No. Now.”

He cast a brief glance around the room, and it occurred to Solona that she had never seen Zevran look awkward before. Under different circumstances, she might have laughed. “To… speak truthfully, my dear, I had not anticipated quite this level of enthusiasm. I’m afraid I, ah, came a bit unprepared.”

It took her a second to catch his meaning, but her entire body sagged with relief when she did. “Grey Wardens are all but sterile, and besides, I’m a mage. We have ways of handling these things.”

“Ah… yes, but there is still the matter of—”

“Zevran Arainai, if you do not penetrate me this instant I will set your hair on fire.”

His eyebrows shot skyward. Slowly, a smile began to spread across his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

Solona’s heart sang in victory as he undid the laces, freeing that beautiful cock again. It had wilted slightly, and this time she needed no prompting to take it in her hand, leaning up to kiss him deeply while she coaxed it back to readiness.

When he was fully hard once more, he broke the kiss, gently pushing her to lie back on the table. Her heart fluttered madly as he spread her legs wider, her breath catching in her chest as she felt the very tip of him pressing against her. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the intrusion.

“Are you ready, Solona?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Tell me what you want.”

She cracked one eye open, finding a mischievous grin on his face. “You know quite well what I want,” she said peevishly. She shifted her hips to try and take him in, but he moved just far enough away to prevent her from succeeding. She scowled.

“I do, yes, but I would like to hear you say it,” he purred, complicating matters all the more by taking his cock in hand and tracing the tip in teasing circles around her entrance. “Ask me to make love to you.”

“I _hardly_ think this falls under the mantle of ‘making love.’”

Zevran sighed. “Do you want to argue semantics, or do you want to get fucked?”

Solona blushed. “The latter, please.”

“Then perhaps—” he pressed forward slightly, just barely dipping into her “—you should humor me, yes?”

“ _OhholyMakerpleasemakelovetome_ ,” she gasped, not even minding the victorious smirk on his face as he withdrew once more to line himself up properly.

“Remember to breathe, _amora_ ,” he said softly, and she didn’t fully understand why until he’d thrust inside her, sending a shock of white-hot pain through her lower body.

He stilled, allowing her time to stretch to accommodate him, but the pain showed no sign of subsiding. No, no, no, this wasn’t at all how it happened in the books; it only stung for a second, and then the heroine was perfectly fine. Romance novels had _lied_ to her! She felt horribly betrayed.

Zevran shushed her, and she realized she’d been whimpering.

“Darling Solona,” he cooed, rubbing her stomach, “it won’t always hurt. Just this time and the first few hereafter, and then you will know nothing but pleasure from love-making.”

“Are you… are you trying to be comforting?” she asked. “ _You_?” She couldn’t help it: she burst out laughing.

Above her, Zevran let out a groan that did not sound born entirely of exasperation. “And just _why_ is that so funny?”

“I don’t think this was what Loghain had in mind when he hired you to impale me,” she managed, before dissolving into laughter again. He rolled his eyes, grinning nonetheless.

“You have a strange sense of humor,” he said. Very slowly, he pushed the rest of the way inside, stilling again once their hips met. “Are you alright?”

There was _something_ in those lovely eyes that made her feel warm all over, and Solona shifted her hips a bit, discovering that the pain, though still sharp, was not as unbearable as it had been. “Yes, I think so. Mostly.”

“Let me know when I may begin to move. There’s no hurry; we have all night. I assure you, I have exemplary self-control,” he added, only slightly boastfully.

He stroked his hands up and down her sides, pausing now and then to worry a nipple between his fingers, and little by little Solona felt herself relax around him. Soon—so soon that she wondered if Zevran had been trained to do precisely that (and came to the conclusion that yes, there was a good chance he _had_ been)—his soothing touches had chased the worst of the sting away.

She caught his gaze and gave him a brief nod.

She winced the first time he withdrew and thrust back in, and the second, but by the third or fourth she’d grown accustomed enough to the smaller twinges of pain that she was able to focus for the first time on how it actually felt to have a man inside her. “Odd” was the first word that came to mind, though not in a bad way. The sensation of being filled and stretched, of him _moving_ deep within her was alien, but she could tell that it would be pleasant once she’d grown used to it.

“Oh, Solona,” he breathed. He gripped her hips, squeezing the doughy flesh there with a groan of approval that quickly dismissed any instinct she might have had to be ashamed of it. “Solona… _amora_ … you feel so good.”

She blushed at the praise. Or was it because of the wet sounds of their coupling, and how very loudly they echoed in the empty library? Or the heat in those golden eyes as he slid his hands up and down her body, kneading at her breasts, her belly, her hips, her thighs; the way that thin sheen of sweat made his skin glisten in the lamplight as he rolled his hips against hers, or the soft murmurs of Antivan that she didn’t understand but could only assume were complimentary?

With so very much to blush about, would she ever be able to _stop_ blushing?

His hips stuttered, and this time she recognized the word he uttered as a curse. “Apologies, my dear,” he said breathlessly, “but it appears I may have overestimated my powers of self-control. I’m afraid this will not be my finest performance. You feel _so_ good, and I’ve wanted this too long. Oh, _Solona_ …”

He swore again, sinking his fingers deeply into the flesh of her hips as the rhythm of his own became erratic, leaving her gasping at the force of his thrusts until, mere moments later, his entire body went rigid, his eyes shut tightly and his mouth open in a silent cry.

Solona's heart did a little somersault. Maker, but he was gorgeous when he came.

Zevran released her hips, bracing his hands on the table as he sagged above her, his breathing ragged. Solona wanted to kiss him again, but since doing so would require moving--which she did _not_ want to do--she contented herself with revisiting the thick lines of black ink on his arms and chest.

He smiled. “You like them.”

“They're beautiful.” She traced the tattoo on his cheek, her heart fluttering strangely when he turned his head to kiss her palm. “They suit you,” she continued, largely to mask the fact that she had no idea what one was supposed to _do_ after sex. Back in the Circle, this had always been the point at which the participants slunk back to their respective beds while everyone else politely pretended to be unaware of what they'd been up to. Out here in the real world, she was at a bit of a disadvantage.

“Pleased to hear it, _amora_ ,” he said. He straightened, leaving her feeling suddenly, disconcertingly empty as his softening cock slid out of her. He helped her to her feet, then gathered her into his arms for a soft kiss. “How do you feel? I... forgot myself a bit in the end. I did not hurt you?”

Solona shook her head. “No, I'm fine. I feel like I probably could use a wash, though,” she added sheepishly, feeling a fresh stab of betrayal at the uncomfortable wetness between her thighs. Scores of smutty books, and not a one had bothered to mention that you _leaked_ afterward. She had a good mind to unload the whole of her collection on the next shopkeeper she met!

“It's a messy business,” Zevran said with a laugh. He set about getting his clothes back in order, so Solona followed suit. “Come. We will get you cleaned up.”

Solona took his hand and allowed him to lead her into the hall, comforted—if oddly disappointed—that post-coital etiquette outside the Circle was very much the same as it was inside.

At least, it had seemed that way until she turned toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?”

Confused, and with the growing suspicion that she had once again failed to recognize some important social cue, Solona replied, “To my room, of course.”

“Mine is closer,” he said, giving her hand a gentle tug in the opposite direction. Still puzzled, but trusting that Zevran was more of an authority on these matters than she, Solona followed him.

True to his claim, Zevran’s room was just around the corner. Though much smaller and simpler than what seemed customary for a nobleman to offer his guests, it was blissfully warm compared to the large, drafty tower room she’d been set up in. Solona wondered if he might agree to trade, but suspected this was not the most appropriate time to ask.

Zevran shed his clothes and began filling the wash basin with hot water from the pot in the hearth. Tamping down a resurgence of self-consciousness, Solona began removing her robes. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t already seen her _mostly_ naked, she reminded herself as she worked the laces. If he hadn’t fled from the sight of her in the library, he wasn’t particularly likely to do it now, even if this room was rather more well-lit.

_Quite_ well-lit, in fact. Indeed... curiously so, Solona realized, counting dozens of flickering candles scattered about, casting the room in a hazy golden glow. There was a censer in the corner releasing the sweet, spicy aroma of frankincense, and, when Solona turned to place her folded robes atop the bed, a decanter of brandy and a pair of empty glasses on the nightstand, accompanied by what looked to be a bottle of massage oil.

“Andraste’s flaming sword, Zevran, did you _plan_ this?”

“Would you think me a scoundrel if I said yes?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Solona laughed. “But… I wouldn’t mind.”

“Then I am a fortunate man, indeed,” Zevran said cheerfully, carrying the steaming basin to where Solona stood at the foot of the bed. “I confess, I did have a rather more elaborate seduction in mind. But you made a _very_ persuasive argument to the contrary,” he added.

Then, before Solona had a moment to think, he’d knelt at her feet. She watched, dumbstruck, as he plucked a sponge from the basin and began gently cleaning their mess from her skin.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked once words returned to her.

“You said you wished to bathe,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Solona shook her head. “No, I mean why are you doing _all_ of this? Why are you being so nice to me?”

Zevran grinned up at her. “Should I be cruel to the women I take to bed?”

“Haven't you killed a number of them?”

“A fair point,” he chuckled. He paused to rinse the sponge, then returned silently to his task. It was not until Solona had accepted that she would be receiving no answer that he finally spoke again, his face a mask of impassivity. “When you found me in the thrall of the Sloth demon, you wept for me.”

Solona sucked in a breath. It had been nearly two months since they liberated the Circle, and the image of him being stretched on the rack by the Crows was still all too fresh in her mind. “Zevran, that was awful. Anyone would have--”

“ _Anyone_ did not. You did.”

Solona turned the words over in her head. “So... you’re doing this because we’re friends?”

“As you say, I have had worse reasons.”

He sounded sad, and Solona regretted forcing him to dredge up the memory. Should she apologize? Would that be weird? Certainly, it wouldn’t _change_ anything. She could be as sorry as she liked, and his training would have been no less barbaric.

Reminding herself that words were seldom her ally in such situations, she reached out to stroke his hair. He leaned into her touch like a cat, and she considered herself forgiven.

Silence fell between them, but it was a comfortable one, and Solona thanked the Maker that she had not ruined the evening. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to indulge in the sensation of the warm sponge travelling up and down her legs as she carded her fingers through Zevran’s hair. She’d never been bathed before. It was pleasant.

Perhaps a bit _too_ pleasant, she discovered, unable to contain a soft moan as he drew the sponge over her sex. She looked down, mortified, but if the smirk was any indication, Zevran was not offended in the slightest.

“Excited again, _amora_?” he teased, giving the over-sensitive flesh a more deliberate caress.

“So are you,” she pointed out, glancing at the half-hard cock between his legs. She felt herself flush, lust coursing like wildfire through her veins. “Can we do it again? No, it’s too late for that. Unless it’s not?”

He laughed. “You are insatiable, Solona! I knew you would be. One can always tell with women.”

Solona frowned. “How?”

“Ah, a master never reveals his secrets,” Zevran said, rising to his feet. He took her hand, kissing it softly. “Come.”

He reclined atop the blankets, and Solona was struck anew by how beautiful he was. His smooth brown skin glowed in the candlelight, his pale hair shimmering like moonbeams where it lay across the pillows. His bright eyes locked with hers, gleaming with promise as he gave that perfect cock a languid stroke.

How was this not the form Desire demons took?

Solona scrambled into his open arms and he rolled her onto her back, rising on his elbow beside her. He ran his knuckles along her cheek. “More comfortable than the table, yes?” he said with a grin.

“I stand by my decision.”

Zevran laughed and ducked his head to kiss her. Soft and slow, it was not quite the sort of kiss Solona was expecting, and it took a moment’s recalibration before she was able to return it with any measure of success. But, in what looked to be the theme of the evening, Zevran didn’t seem to mind, meeting her clumsy attempts at participation with patience and good humor.

After what felt like ages he deepened the kiss, and she moaned, eagerly welcoming his tongue with her own. His free hand roamed her body, light and relaxing at first, but growing more heated in time with their kiss. She sighed, pressing herself into his palm as he kneaded a breast, and she felt him smile against her lips.

He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down her neck. He pressed soft kisses and gentle bites along her throat, her collar, her breasts. He caught a nipple in his mouth and she gasped, arching off the bed as throbs of aching need shot to her clit.

Too soon, he released her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes glinting wickedly as he met her gaze. “Do you like that, _amora_?”

“Is this really the time for rhetorical questions?”

Zevran rolled his eyes, but didn’t look especially bothered. “Ah, woman, can you not humor me?” He laved his tongue over the abandoned nipple, giving the other a gentle pinch. “It pleases me to hear the words.”

An unexpected flood of arousal rushed to Solona’s core. “Yes,” she said, her voice just above a whisper as heat rose in her cheeks.

“Yes?” he echoed, planting lazy kisses over her breasts. “Yes to what, _amora_? Yes, you can humor me? Yes, you like being suckled?” He gave the nipple another hard suck and she barely contained a squeal.

“ _Yes_ ,” she repeated, sinking trembling fingers into his hair. He chuckled, but had mercy, suckling the opposite nipple until she squirmed, desperate for something, anything between her legs.

“Still so shy, my dear,” he purred, relenting in his assault to kiss his way down her ribs. “Hmm. Do you like this?”

“Yes.”

“And this?” he asked, dipping his tongue into her navel.

“Y-yes.”

He drew lower, peppering her belly with kisses until he reached her pubic mound. “And when I kiss your cunny--you like that, too?”

“Maker, _yes_ ,” Solona said, parting her legs in anticipation as his kisses fell lower still. Her toes curled as he swirled his tongue over her clit--it _was_ a bit sore from before--but he did not remain there long before climbing back up her body to capture her lips in a deep, dizzying kiss.

“And when I make love to you,” he said breathlessly, his hard cock twitching where it was pinned between their bellies, “do you like that?”

Solona swallowed. “Yes,” she said, and felt a tremor run up the length of his body.

“Shall I make love to you now, _amora_?”

“Yes,” Solona breathed. “Yes,” she repeated, winding her legs around his hips as he nestled between her thighs, dragging the head of his cock through her sodden folds. " _Yes_ ,” she whimpered, digging her nails into his back as he drove himself in to the hilt. There was still pain, but it was dull, a mere annoyance accompanying the wet slide of his cock inside her, and she sighed, tightening her legs around him.

It was nice, she decided, having him so close during sex. It felt cozy. Intimate. For a moment she thought she understood why he insisted on calling it “making love,” but she banished the foolish notion from her mind.

This was sex. Sex between people who cared for each other as friends, perhaps, but nothing more than that. It wouldn’t do to go letting herself get carried away on flights of fancy when, come morning, things between them would be exactly the same as they had been yesterday.

Zevran shifted the angle of his hips slightly, and that niggling thread of disappointment vanished as he thrust against something deep inside that made her eyes roll back. She heard him chuckle, but couldn’t find it within her to be annoyed when he picked up his pace, hitting that spot on every stroke.

He was speaking again--her name, and “ _amora_ ,” and strains of Antivan that she remembered from earlier but still could not hope to decipher. He said a phrase she she didn’t recognize, his thrusts coming to a halt. He licked his lips, then repeated so that she could understand. “My name, _amora_. Say it.”

Solona flushed. Feeling a bit silly, she said, “Zevran.”

His whole body shuddered. “Solona,” he sighed, stealing a searing kiss as he began to move again with more vigor than before.

“Zevran,” she said again, emboldened by this passionate response. She raked her nails lightly down his chest, feeling him shiver beneath her touch. “Zevran,” she moaned as his cock thrust against that particular spot, over and over, until she felt herself beginning to unravel. “Zevran, Zevran, _Zevran_ …”

He opened his mouth, but if he said anything Solona didn’t hear it because she was _coming_ , and he followed right on her heels, burying himself as deep as he could while her body clenched around him as though it never wished to let go.

He collapsed on top of her, and she held him close, briefly entertaining the irrational fancy that she would be perfectly content to stay that way forever.

“You’re all sweaty,” she said finally, combing her fingers through his damp hair.

Zevran laughed tiredly. “Yes, that happens,” he said, pressing soft kisses into her neck. He rose up to lay another kiss on her lips, then rolled off of her. “Come,” he said, sliding under the covers. “You will catch your death of cold.”

Solona’s hand had nearly reached her robes before she realized that he meant for her to join him in bed. She looked toward the door. Then back at him.

They were finished, though, weren’t they? Late as it was, they were unlikely to do it again. But, once more, she conceded that he knew things about the world outside the Circle that she didn’t, and crawled beneath the covers.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to lay her head upon his chest.

“And...what’s the purpose of this?”

“Do you not find it pleasurable?” he asked, kissing her hair.

It _was_ rather comfortable being cocooned in his arms under the warm blankets, feeling his heart slow to a steady rhythm beneath her cheek. So comfortable that her eyelids were quickly growing heavy. “I suppose it is.”

“Then, what other purpose is required?” He squeezed her. “Rest, _amora_. It’s late.”

Solona closed her eyes. “Just for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes,” he agreed.

 

* * *

 

  
Solona awoke to the pale grey light of pre-dawn filtering through the curtains. Keeping her eyes shut tightly, she turned away from the window, just as she’d done every morning since they began their stay at Castle Redcliffe.

Except that this morning she turned right instead of left. And she was naked.

She gasped, bolting upright to find an equally naked Antivan Crow lying next to her.

Maker’s balls, she’d had sex with Zevran.

_Twice_.

Careful not to make a sound, Solona climbed out of bed as gingerly as she could, looking back once both feet were on the ground to make sure she hadn’t woken Zevran. Confident that he was still asleep, she tiptoed over to retrieve her clothes. Her robes had been kicked onto the floor at some point in the night, and she said a silent prayer of thanks that they’d managed not to fall into the washbasin as she shrugged them on. Unlikely as she was to meet anyone in the hall at this hour, sopping wet robes would have been difficult to explain.

She toed on her shoes, casting her eyes about the room for her smallclothes. Where had they--?

Oh, Maker, they were still in the library. Saint Solona had left her knickers in the library. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her chest and she clasped a hand over her mouth to contain it.

Right. She would finish dressing, find her smallclothes, then slip into her room before anyone was the wiser. She could do this, she assured herself. No problem. She cast another glance toward the bed to make sure Zevran was still asleep.

She was met with golden eyes tracking her every move.

 Shit. Of _course_ he was a light sleeper. Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_ …

“Um. Good morning?”

“Good morning,” Zevran said, making no move to leave the bed. “You seem in quite a hurry.”

“I, er. No,” Solona said. “Yes. What I mean is, thank you _so_ much for last night. It was--you’re _very_ good at sex, and… thank you, for--ah--for that. But I should--I should really go. People will be waking up soon, and--” she shrugged, unable to locate any more words.

Zevran looked thoughtful. “I believe I understand.”

" _Thank_ you.”

“You are a Grey Warden, I am a Crow. I can see how you might not wish such a dalliance to become public knowledge.”

Solona’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“It is perfectly sound judgement,” Zevran continued. “You are attempting to court the favor of the Fereldan nobility. Sharing your bed with an assassin is perhaps not the best look.”

“Me? No-- _you_! I thought that _you_ wouldn’t--because I’m--” she gestured helplessly at herself. “I mean, last night was one thing, but in the cold light of morning…”

“Ah. I see,” Zevran said, crossing the bed to where she stood. Before Solona could act, he grasped her partially-laced robes and pulled them open, looking her up and down. “Yes. Yes, this _will_ be a problem.”

Solona’s heart sank. “It will?”

“Now that I have had my hands on you, I fear I shall not be able to keep them off.”

Solona opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Zevran laughed, resting his forehead against hers. “Come back to bed, _amora_.”

He did not have to ask her twice.


End file.
